The Witch’s Ichor

The door clicks shut behind Jamison as he slips into his home. The house is dark, so Jamison is careful to approach the stairs leading up toward his bedroom. He doesn't want to wake his father, especially not when he's carrying a firearm he definitely shouldn't have.

Click.

Jamison freezes as the lights come on. Sitting on the couch with his arms folded is Jamison's father, the last person Jamison wants to see right now. Sweat beads on Jamison's forehead as his father gestures for him to sit down.

"H-Hey, Dad..."

"Take a seat, Jamison."

Swallowing his excuses, Jamison takes a seat on the couch with his father. He leaves the case containing the gun by the door. Hopefully his father won't take notice of it.

"Bring that over," Jamison's father growls.

Jamison rises from his seat. His face is as white as paper as he brings the gun case over to the couch. He sits back down stiffly.

"Now I'm going to give you a chance to explain yourself, Jamison."

Jamison's father is giving him a cold look. The kind of look a cop gives a suspect. The kind of stare a normal person gives an insane person. It's not how a father usually looks at his child.

"Well, I was just hoping to get something to defend myself with..."

Jamison's voice is unsteady as he starts to spin a web of lies. His father doesn't stop him.

"Did you know there was an attack at the school?"

Jamison's father nods impassively. His expression doesn't betray what he's thinking.

"...Well, because of that I wanted to get this for self defense. I know it might-"

The words get caught in his throat when his father raises his hands to cup his own face. The usually stoic man is holding his head in his hands. Jamison watches in fascination as his father's shoulders tense. He is crying.

"D-Dad?"

Softly, the man's shoulders tremble. One single gasp of grief is all Jamison hears.

"Are you... crying?"

Hesitation gives way to urgency in that moment. Jamison quickly embraces his father, and hugs him tightly. Jamison's father reacts by putting one arm around his son. The sight of wet tears staining his father's face is hard for Jamison to bear.

Jamison's father steadies himself. His voice comes out sounding hoarse. Weak.

"I just... wish I had done things right, Jamie."

The sadness in his father's voice is too much. Jamison argues, his voice wavering.

"Dad, you didn't do anything... wrong."

Emotional pain forces a grimace onto Jamison's father's face. His thin lips twist into a scowl. He shuts his eyes as if to hide from it all. Jamison attempts to comfort his dad once more.

"This isn't your fault, I was just... being stupid-"

"No. I'm not talking about the fucking gun, Jamie."

Jamison's eyes widen at his father's language. He hardly ever uses crude language, much less that particular word.

"Then... about what?" Jamison asks.

Jamison watches his dad slowly look up from his lap. He follows his dad's gaze, and sees a particular picture of his late mother. A rather tall woman with lengthy brown hair. Jamison has already looked at her picture a thousand times.

"When your mother... passed away, I-"

An especially painful memory causes him to choke up briefly. He continues, albeit quieter.

"I just couldn't look at you, Jamie."

The sharp sting of that sentence cuts deep into Jamison's heart. Emotions bubble up to the forefront of his mind. He can't stop the tears that pour from his eyes. Spilling down his features.

God damn it, Dad.

Jamison curls his hands into fists. His knuckles turn white as he struggles to process what he's feeling. The rage. The pain. The loneliness.

"I'm sorry, Jamie. I should have been there for you."

Anger can't withstand that blow. The regret dripping from his dad's voice is too genuine to stay upset with him. Sure, it doesn't heal the years of neglect Jamison suffered, but it's meaningful on its own.

Jamie's dad clears his throat, continuing to speak.

"I don't know who you intend to kill, but-"

Jamison's eyebrows shoot up at that. He quickly cuts off his father.

"No! No, Dad. We were... well, where do I start?"

This inevitably leads to Jamison explaining everything to his dad.

~

More than an hour has passed, and Jamison's dad is up to date on everything that's been going on in his son's life. And when he says everything, he means everything. From the day Zoe drank that strange potion to now.

Jamison's father is looking at him like he's just grown a second head.

"So... let me get this straight. You like this girl, right?"

Jamison nods in the affirmative.

"And when some freak attacks her with a knife, you want to get revenge?"

Once again, Jamison nods.

"So you decide to go along with your buddy's plan to... and let me make sure I got this right..."

Jamison bites his lip, knowing what his dad is about to say.

"Rob a bank. With an actual assault rifle. To frame this knife guy as the culprit."

Hearing his own no-nonsense dad say it puts a new perspective on things. The ridiculousness of such a plan is painfully obvious. Three teenagers, robbing a bank, and getting away with it? It's something only a painfully hormonal or drugged up teenager could think of!

"It sounded a lot more reasonable when Theo said it!" Jamison stammers.

Laughter. An impossible joyous sound which Jamison hasn't heard come out of his father's mouth in so many years. The embarrassment he was feeling vanishes in the face of seeing his dad finally smiling again.

Jamison's dad manages to calm himself down enough to talk.

"S-So you boys were going to do all of that, instead of just... I don't know... asking your old man to help you put the guy in prison?"

Realization dawns on Jamison. He immediately face palms, his foolishness like cold water over a fire of inflated teenage ego. Jamison's dad chuckles, putting a gentle hand on his son's shoulder.

"Look, for today I think we should head to bed. Tomorrow we'll have to give your friends a call. Especially Theodore, that little shit!"

A blush flares up on Jamison's cheeks as he realizes how much trouble his friends are going to be in. Better a scolding from your parents than jailtime, he supposes.

~

Zoe is snuggled up with her mother and father in their bedroom. The soft embrace of her parents and the blanket is a luxury long forgone in favor of independence. She had argued against it, but her mother had insisted she stay close to them for tonight.

Mom had this redness in her eyes when she came home late after work. It was clear she had been crying on the car ride home, but she wouldn't admit it. Dad looked just as upset over the ordeal. Zoe had never seen Dad look so angry.

I didn't mean to worry them.

Zoe sighs, pulling the covers over her head. The stuffy warm air beneath the blankets is stifling. She can hear the muffled sound of her parent's breathing. She scoots closer to her mother, and embraces her sleeping body.

Tears start to flow before Zoe knows why. Soft little sobs urge her hot tears out. Zoe feels her lithe body shiver, her arms tightly hugging her mother's sleeping form.

Why am I even crying?

Movement gives Zoe pause. She feels her mother twist. Then the blanket is lifted away to reveal her tear stained face. She looks up at her mother's concerned face.

"Zoe? What's wrong, honey?"

Zoe pushes her teary eyed face into her mother's side. She can feel her mother gently rubbing her on the back. Holding Zoe close as she lets her emotions out.

This goes on for several minutes.

Finally, Zoe stops crying. Her chest heaves as she sucks in ragged breaths.

"Feel better..?" Zoe's mother asks.

Zoe nuzzles her mother's shoulder briefly. Her doe eyes look up at her mother, red and puffy from bawling for so long. She speaks in a rather hoarse voice.

"Y-Yeah..."

With that Zoe's mom gives her a gently rub on the head. Her hand carefully brushes Zoe's long dark hair out of her face. Zoe looks shies away from her mother's concerned gaze. Her cheeks burn as she feels the telltale stickiness of snot on her face. She must look so gross!

The look Zoe's mother gives her telegraphs only concern for her daughter. No disgust. She speaks to Zoe in a tender tone.

"What... led to all of that, honey?"

Zoe's cheeks turn a brighter shade of red as she contemplates the question. Nothing in particular caused that. She already processed the attack earlier that day, yet she bawled her eyes out regardless.

Zoe has to admit she doesn't know.

"I-I don't know..."

The way Zoe's mother smiles tells Zoe her mother suspected as much. Her mother puts her arms around Zoe tenderly, and the two hug quietly. There's something about the action that tells Zoe her mother understands.

Zoe gently pulls her face from her mother's shoulder. The two exchange eye contact.

"Sometimes you just need to cry, and that's okay."

Her mother's words are nothing special, yet they resonate in Zoe's heart like the ring of a gong. She sniffs, burying her face in her mother's neck as if to hide her emotional reaction. Zoe's mother gently holds her, comforting Zoe.

The brief gush of emotions subsides. Zoe has to force herself to calm down in order to speak.

"I-I just didn't want to cry, y'know?"

Zoe's mother nods softly, not saying anything. Zoe continues.

"And I knew I shouldn't- B-Boys don't cry-" Zoe chokes up.

The pain Zoe is feeling is written all over her face. Zoe feels her mother squeeze her close, and nearly bursts into tears anew. Fortunately, she's already cried herself out. Several gasping hiccups of anguish are all that escape Zoe.

"You aren't a boy, Zoe," Mom comforts.

Zoe feels something in her chest seize. That little black knot that's always hiding in her chest squeezes. Her stress and self hatred twisting her emotions in a whirlwind. And then Zoe's mother stops it all with a single statement.

"You never were."

Something snaps inside Zoe. She looks up at her mother's eyes, seeing her own face in the reflection. The face of a girl. The girl she always was.

I was always a girl?

Zoe's hands clench into small fists as she trembles. The truth emboldening her.

"I'm a girl," Zoe whispers.

That puts a smile on Mom's face. She carefully wipes Zoe's tears with her hand, beaming with pride for her daughter.

"Exactly, honey. You are a girl."

Zoe's lips twitch into a dopey smile at the affirmation. It hadn't felt real until now. She didn't feel real until now. Turns out, she is a very real girl.

I gotta tell my friends!

Mom raises her brow as Zoe tries to reach across to the nightstand. Mom grabs her wrist to gently stop her, and the two lock eyes.

"Honey, you need to sleep."

"But I want to tell my friends that-"

"That you're a real girl? They know, honey."

Zoe pouts, her cheeks puffing slightly as she slouches back into her spot on the bed. Mom gives her a mildly amused smile as she pulls the blankets up to cover them both.

Dad's soft snores fill the room as the women of the family try their best to drift off to sleep. It's comfortable to lay with those who care about you, even if one of them sounds like a foghorn.

"...Hey, Mom?" Zoe whispers.

Zoe feels the pillows shift as her mom turns her head toward Zoe.

"...Yes, honey?" Mom sighs.

An especially happy smile adorns Zoe's face as she lays there in the dark.

"I love you."

Briefly, there is silence.

"I love you too, honey."

And that is the last thing Zoe hears before exhaustion takes her.